Ring
by Sakyh
Summary: Balthier wants to prove that he is no longer the same boy she needed to protect 6 years ago.


**Author's Note:** Just finished the game when news came about that the Zodiac Age remake was in production (yay) so I thought it was appropriate to write a fic and get FFXII ships back on fire. I'm not entirely happy with the way this fic came out, particularly the pacing. I figured I won't have too much time to do any more proofreading in the near future so I decided to upload what I have for now. Perhaps if I have a holiday I'll revist this. With that said, revision tips would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

For those who are familiar with the Tales of Symphonia fandom, this story is inspired by a track off one of their Drama CDs.

* * *

 _Ring_

 _xx_

It is the most intoxicated she has ever seen him. While she has always made it a point to inform him when he has had more than enough of his share of drink, somehow her warning has passed right over his head tonight.

"Rest assured, my dear!" He pours himself a fifth glass with an unsteady hand. The label reads of an aged wine far stronger than that of his usual tastes. "I'm feeling rather bold tonight. Should the gods allow it, this evening will surely be a memorable one."

She shrugs in defeat. "If that's what you believe." She has seen many humes insist on committing the same mistake.

In a short hour and three drinks later, Balthier is stumbling through the bustle of Rabanastre's night market, paying no mind to the snickers and rolling of eyes from passing pedestrians and shopkeepers. With cuffs rolled high and shirt unbuttoned low, he wanders through the streets in a wide-eyed, drunken stupor. Tonight, he holds no care. Tonight, he holds no fear.

Fran only watches, close enough to catch him but far enough for him to forget that he's being followed. It's ok if he forgets her, even if it's only for a fleeting second. Not often does she receive the opportunity to witness her partner stripped of all his elaborate facades. How tiring it must be, the life of an actor.

She keeps watch of his back and remembers the back of a boy, no older than 16 years of age. It was a small back then, one that was not fit to the carry the burdens of Archadean power bestowed unto him. She remembers how he often forced his spine to stand taller than he could bear in the eyes of others. Now, in 6 years time, she sees the back of a young man who has grown strong from carrying its constant load.

Was there anything she could do to free him from that burden?

Balthier comes to an abrupt halt, sobriety piercing through his consciousness with eyes fixated on something amidst the banter and barter of merchants. Fran also stops in her tracks, just short of a collision with her partner. But between the listless noise and constant movement of the surounding Humes, she cannot make out what has her partner so entranced.

He stands in the center of commotion for no more than a few heartbeats. An ephemeral instant for Fran but an eternal moment for Balthier.

"Something troubles you?" She looks to him, searching for an answer.

His eyes glaze over in thought and Fran isn't so sure he's heard her at all. But as she prepares to raise her voice, she is startled by an eager grip to her wrist, intent in dragging her towards the direction of the stall-lined streets.

He pulls her through the crowd like an excitable child, weaving through adults and children alike with little regard. Thankful for being a head taller than most Humes, Fran traces Balthier's line of sight ahead to their destination over a sea of people.

In the distance is a corner shop obscured by a small gathering of interested window shoppers. Many are pushing and pulling one another in hopes of gracing a glimpse of its wares, some of them yelling obscenities and other rude remarks. It is in the harsh carry of their language that reminds Fran that every Hume carries an inner child that never seems to outgrow his lifetime. Balthier is no exception.

Through its thickness, Balthier cuts through the mass and secures a central viewing of the stall, either completely unaware or knowingly ignoring protests from neighboring shoppers. She, like him, is unapologetic in making her way to the front. After all, that is the way of a sky pirate – to take what is believed to be rightfully theirs.

So when an array of brightly colored gems and trinkets is laid out across her vision, she cocks her head to the side in curiosity. In the layers of sunset pinks and sea-breeze blues mounted on bands of gold and chains of silver, two questions came to mind:

One: Why would Balthier, a man of desire for only material of worth, fancy jewels with value rivaling that of gravel?

Second: How on Ivalice did his Hume eyes manage to spot this from such a distance?

She bends sideways, leaning in close to his ear with a subtle mocking grin. "Never have I seen a sky pirate take interest in something of such little worth."

He does not bother with a retort. A first for Balthier, even under the influence of several glasses. Instead, a quizzical expression forms across his face as he scans the selection, his brow scrunched with one hand resting on the prominence of his chin. The other hand, she realizes, has moved down from the bend of her wrist and is now tightly woven around hers. His grip is an odd mixture of desperation and reassurance, as if to hide the fear of what would happen should he let go.

With hesitation, her fingers return the favor, curling carefully around his. His hands, calloused from handling both gun and wrench, are larger than she remembers and almost envelop hers completely. When did this happen? How long has it been since his hands, once pristine and without wear, couldn't even shoulder his own gun?

The sparkle of stones reflects in his eyes, mimicking the same mischievous twinkle that appears after a successful raid or close shave. An all too familiar feeling. It is the same one that dances in her heart, stirs adventure in her bones, and leaves her craving for more.

When he doesn't answer after some time, she formulates her own assumption. "A child you are to be swayed by such trivialities."

He drops his hand from his chin, paying no mind to his partner. With quick and decisive nod he is awaken from his thoughts as he places a coin in the seller's pocket and takes one of the jeweled rings on display in one swift motion. As she is dragged once again by the hand away from the chaos, a hearty voice, though may it be faint to humes, rings true to her Viera ears from behind.

"You've sure got some balls, kid!" She pretends not to hear.

By now, the moon is high risen and Fran is certain that she has seen all of Rabanastre in one evening. To her surprise, the snickers and eye-rolling in the streets have turned into excited chatter and jealous stares with their passing. While she is used to the glances that deem her an outsider amongst a world for Humes, an uneasiness settles in her that she cannot ignore.

Enough is enough. Her steeled patience is wearing thin and she tired of deciphering his every whim without reason. How long did Balthier plan on touring the city in his cryptic march?

She plants her next step firmly and stands her ground, anchoring Balthier from leading her any further. Around them, the crowds keep their upbeat pace, unyielding in the same way that world continues to spin without fail.

He glances back to meet her piercing eyes. "Something troubles you?" He grins a deceivingly playful smile that tests her patience. She would not let him turn her words against her.

"Yes." The words are cool, but her temper sparks. "Try as I might, I cannot fathom your actions of tonight. I cannot do much for that which I do not understand. You know this well."

Balthier senses this and should not be taken for a fool. "I didn't realize you were uneasy." His impish grin melts off his face and is replaced with an apologetic expression. "I-"

"Tell me what abrades you, Balthier."

Silence follows. It weighs heavy and awkward between them with an uneasiness Fran has not known before. This isn't how it should be between partners.

Then: "If an apology is what you're waiting for, I will not apologize for being cryptic nor for leading you by the hand through all of Rabanastre." He steps closer and has to tilt his head up to meet her eyes, unwavering.

"Most of all, I will not apologize for trying to give back to you what you have done for me since the day we've met."

That's it. The pieces started aligning with one another – after all, Balthier was always easier to read when his façade is lifted by copious amounts of alcohol. He wished to gift her the trinket from earlier. As for him parading around Rabanstre, she could only assume that it was a sly ploy to get her hand into his own.

One step closer. His advances do not move her. She holds steady as the unweathered Mother Tree, refusing to bend.

She shakes her head. "You owe me nothing. Do not fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You were but a child when we first met."

"And now?" Even his voice does not waver.

The silence sits for another moment longer. She cannot be hasty with her words. She cannot bear to break his spirit.

Finally, "Would you have me give you a truth that only applies to you at this point in your life?"

The words must have pierced him deep, evident in the falter of his face. A mix of concern and confusion upon his face tells her that she has hit the mark.

She places her hand atop his head with a careful precision she has come to know after years of him avoiding her claws.

"In many ways, yes. Through my eyes, every Hume carries their child-like tendencies to the grave."

It's not the quite answer he wants to hear but she will not sugar coat it any more for him. She never once has and she will not start now. No one else will tell him otherwise.

He takes her hand from his head and between his own, his eyes determined. "Then tell me what it will take to prove to you that I'm not the same boy you need to protect."

There they are - those eyes she swore to protect on that fateful day 6 years ago. Amongst the passing of people his voice is as clear as the skies on the eve of their first flight off the Strahl. His eyes do not fear like during their first encounter. Now, they smile. They are resolute.

She cannot help but smile in kind. "Do not worry. The time will come where your role will be to support me."

"Oh please, Fran."

"I'm serious." But her lips still smile faintly. "Until then, I will support you."

An audible sigh escapes him but tension still visibly binds his body. Words are caught in the lump of his throat and suffocate his intent. He doesn't move. He cannot speak.

But after some time, he gives a curt nod and from his pocket takes something in his hand. When she narrows her eyes in curiosity, he opens his fingers to reveal the trinket he pulled at the stall from earlier that evening. A simple, band in elegant gold sits in his palms. Its gem is no larger than a grain of sand from the Nam-Yensa sandsea and glitters blue the way the desert sun torches the sky. Fran blinks curiously. What is Balthier trying to prove with this?

When he gestures for her to take it, she hesitates for a moment. "What's this? I'm afraid I only accept proposals of marriage from sober men."

"A promise ring for a lovely lady, my one and only partner, of course!" He exclaims as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. And when he lifts her delicate fingers to his lips, she does not bother pulling away. As often as he would try to woo her in the past, his advances these days are always 'all in good fun' as Balthier put it. But now, the feeling of his lips, full and gentle on the slender bend of her fingers, makes her heart flutter as if she were running from the narrow encounter of capture on a bounty hunt.

Why?

The ring slips on seamlessly and melds itself around her ring finger as if declared a part of her. Fran toys with the band the way she does the toggle switches on the Strahl's dashboard, always shifting to find the most fitting position. Right now, it creates an uncomfort in the valleys of her fingers and she is sure to remove it later when Balthier is safely in slumber.

Against her shadowed skin, the blue gem is radiant and mystifying. It dances with the moonlight and whispers a promise to the skies. Humes and their promises.

"When you should need me, I will no longer be same boy of that time. I will be ready. I am not enough as I am now. I will not have you until then."

The voice, she realizes, belongs to Balthier. In the haze of Rabanastre night, their eyes find one another and both noise and awareness fall away until only the two of the remain surrounded by a muted blur of people.

"And a man, especially the leading man, does not break his promise."

It is the last coherent phrase he manages to say before the alcohol paints out his vision entirely.

The following morning, he does not remember a thing.

"I swear by my honor as a sky pirate-"

"Sky pirates have no honor." Fran takes her place beside him on the loft.

"You miss the point, Fran." Not having to ask, he takes a generous swig from the canteen Fran hands him before continuing. "As I was saying, there is- wait, what's that around your neck?"

Her hand automatically finds the chain around her neck, her fingers sliding to the trinket hanging at its end. "This? A token from last night. A promise from a Hume."

Balthier takes the ring at the end of the chain, eyeing it warily. Against the creeping dawn, a halo of light winks through the cut of its gem.

"Well, I certainly hope that this poor excuse of a gift did not come from me. I assure you that even a drunken fool such as myself from yesternight would not subject you to such an embarassment."

"I'm quite fond of his gift. It was a commendable show of his sincerity."

"Fran."He speaks under hushed breath, dropping the ring and allowing it to dangle. "Is there anyone I should be wary of? Your ranks of admirers aren't getting any smaller, I dare say."

"Your worry is baseless, Balthier."

"Good to know."

She turns to leave him to tend to his hangover but stays at the door a bit longer, lingering in anticipation. For what reason, she doesn't know. There is nothing left to expect from his wiped memories, nothing of his promise or sentiment. Yet she stays, still as the waiting trees of Eruyt for him to pull lost words from the air.

"Thank you, Fran." He says suddenly. Her ears twitch with attention even as the rest of her is without response. Its how he knows she's listening, so he continues.

"I'll try not to burden you with my…late night shenanigans in the future."

His voice is tinged ever so slightly with apology that Fran almost believes him. Without words, she throws him a glance over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised suggestively, as if to say 'oh? We'll see about that."

She moves from the door and into the hall, taking his words with her. They echo with a familiar semblance, as if his memories had found their way back to him, even if only for an instance. Her hand rests on the ring across her chest while her thoughts rest with his words.

For now, it is enough.


End file.
